Revelations

A Mother's Love

I'm living on borrowed time.

That's what she snarled at me through the glass doors.

Usually these conversations last longer.

Minutes turned into hours of ripping down the walls I've built around what little self worth I have left.

I've been keeping it safe from everything.

There's not much, but she feeds on it constantly.

She boils it down into nothing until it's nothing but a whisper.

I wanted so badly to ask her the question and finally hear her honest answer.

Not "What kind of daughter are you?"

Not "You insolent little shit."

And most certainly not "You're going to pay rent from now on."

I want her to tell me, I want her to make me understand.

"What kind of mother does this to her daughter?"